


program and control

by bee_kind



Category: Black Mirror, Black Mirror: Bandersnatch
Genre: M/M, also no one in this movie is cishet let’s be real, they didn't smooch and i was mad about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind
Summary: sometimes, colin jumps and stefan watches.sometimes, he holds his hand instead.





	1. one

when he wakes up in the morning, his mouth still tastes of misery and his stomach is churning with what he can only assume are the beginnings of a wicked hangover. he can only assume, because he’s never been hungover, but he can feel the vodka that scorched his throat the night before still burning a hole in his gut and the rough ridges of colin’s thumb pressing something thin and papery to the tip of his tongue. his skin had tasted of salt and tobacco ashes, something bitter but comforting. colin. the thought of him sends the remains of last night’s revelries rushing up stefan’s throat and onto a rejected pile of bandersnatch routes. he stares at if for a moment before falling back onto his pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. colin is dead and he watched it happen, had made it happen. there’d been a wild look in eyes; he’d been so sure of his immortality. there’s a hollow space in stefan’s chest and he has no idea how to fill it, so he falls back asleep instead, hoping that when he wakes up, he won’t remember it. 

  
  



	2. two

the next morning he manages to haul himself out of bed and drag himself down the hall to the bathroom. he goes through the motions of  his morning routine, movements languid and automatic: he wets his toothbrush and squeezes electric blue paste onto the well worn bristles. he brushes, rinsed, spits and goes for his meds, but hesitation slows his fingers. colin’s word run round the echo chamber of his mind as he empties the orange bottle into the palm of his hand and stares at them. he wasn’t a machine. he says this aloud to himself as he flips his hand over and throws the lot of them into the toilet. there’s not a second’s delay when he pushes the flush.


	3. three

tuckersoft is a mess of activity and so is stefan’s head. he doesn’t remember the bus ride over to the company, just the sound of his front door banging shut and then the familiar ding and roll of the elevator opening. he stares blankly out at the office, at the people typing and laughing and rushing about and he feels an acute sense of loneliness. He’s considering pressing the ‘door close’ button and calling mr. tucker with an excuse, but the man in question crosses in front of him and grins. “stefan!” he calls, looping an arm around the young man’s shoulders. he pulls him into the tableau and everything seems louder and brighter. he’s brought back to the present and he tamps down the urge to bolt. 

tucker is half-shouting something animatedly about new games and graphics and stefan is paying attention only long enough to give nods and murmurs of assent until he catches the word ‘nohzdyve’. his blood turns to ice water and he watches the developer for any sign that he’s aware of what happened to his top programmer. there are no signs; he’s unaware. they take a seat in his office, the man still blathering animatedly, but stefan could hardly focus. 

colin was dead. 

when he’d realized it the morning after, he’d been filled with revulsion but now the reality of what they’d done felt like it was choking the life out of him. he hadn’t pushed him, he hadn’t goaded him, hadn’t done anything other than suggest he be the one to climb over the balcony- but that didn’t absolve him of guilt. he’s dragged from his rapid spiral down into self-loathing by the sound of the office door opening and tucker’s attention turning toward the door. “-nice of you to finally join us!” the developer says, a little indignant. 

  
“sorry.” someone else replies in a nasal baritone. “i got caught up in something.”    
  
stefan whirls around and there, standing in the entrance is colin. there are dark circles under his eyes and one f the legs of his glasses are being held on by type, but he doesn’t look any worse for wear. something like confusion settles in his stomach and he’s not sure whether to laugh or scream or punch the other man square in his nose. 

  
“...fan. stefan!” tucker is snapping in front of his face, and it’s not until the fifth call of his name that he realizes. he turns back forward in his chair, hands white knuckled on the fabric of his jeans. “what’s wrong with you, man?” the developer asks, thick brows knit together in irritation. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

stefan is about to answer, but he catches the other man’s reflection in the glass window over tucker’s shoulder. he’s watching him, blue eyes vivid and mad even in copy. the corners of reflection-colin’s mouth turn up into a smirk. he winks. 


End file.
